


Over You

by ElvenSorceress



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Cookies, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Food Sex, Het, Interracial Relationship, Male Character of Color, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-01
Updated: 2009-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSorceress/pseuds/ElvenSorceress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe I got tired of waiting. Maybe I'm over you. If you want cookies, you can buy them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over You

**Author's Note:**

> \- Set post graduation / HSM3  
> \- Written for Porn Battle VII.

It's a delicate art making the perfect crème brulee. The custard has to be cooked just long enough and the sugar has to be perfectly caramelized and not just burnt because he doesn’t care what the name means – burnt and caramelized do not taste the same. And it's really, really not something he can accomplish with her so close.  
  
She's sitting on top of the counter, watching him. Long legs crossed and almost completely bare because her ruffled miniskirt is crumpled up near her hips.  
  
"I like your cookies," she says, ulterior motive very evident in her tone. "I miss them."  
  
He tries not to stare at the way she's tracing a finger up her thigh. "I'm not making cookies anymore."  
  
She frowns – a hard pout that draws attention to her glossy pink lips. "Why not?"  
  
He busies himself with anything he can reach. It turns out to be a filling for one of the pastries. He stirs it much harder than it needs. "Because I'm not."  
  
Her eyes darken and she boldly dips a finger into the creamy filling in his bowl. Bringing it to her lips, she sucks and watches his reaction. "You should," she says without a hint of lenience.  
  
He takes a deep breath. "I don't like to make them for people who just want my cookies."  
  
She raises an eyebrow, smirking. "They have to want more than your cookies?" Her eyes rake over him, and he feels naked. "I want more than your cookies."  
  
Abruptly, he stops stirring because it really didn't need to be stirred so much anyway. "I'm not going to do this anymore."  
  
Her eyebrows furrow, but she looks thoroughly disinterested. "Why not?"  
  
"Maybe I got tired of waiting. Maybe I'm over you. If you want cookies, you can buy them."  
  
When she frowns this time, it's sadder than he's ever seen her. It absolutely breaks his heart. "You're over me?"  
  
He sighs hard and tries to stay strong. "Yes."  
  
She glances down at the floor and uncrosses her legs, bracing her hands on the counter's edge. After a minute, she looks up - every trace of sadness gone. "Fine."  
  
He swallows hard and honestly expects her to storm out. Or slap him and storm out. Or yell at him and slap him and storm out, but she doesn't. She grabs the straps on his apron, curling her fingers around his collar, and yanks him toward her, forcefully kissing him.  
  
He stumbles, nearly falls, and tries to catch the counter for balance, but ends up gripping her to stay vertical.  
  
It's the last thing he wants. Well, okay, not the _last_ thing. But he's really trying to make it the last thing.  
  
She holds tightly and doesn't let him go, working her mouth against his, sucking his lips. And he can't ignore how much he's wanted this. He really, really wishes he could. But she's still all he thinks about.  
  
He lifts his hands to her back and doesn't move away. She grins and pulls him tight against her, legs open and breasts crushed against him. His stomach twists a little, but he's suddenly so hard it hurts. And if she wants him - even just this little bit - he's okay with that.  
  
He sweeps his tongue into her mouth and clutches her when she moans. Her hands rub over his chest, massaging hard as she squeezes her legs around him. He whimpers and touches as much of her as he can.  
  
His heart is pounding when she pushes him away. He's sure he looks hurt and worried, especially when she gives him that viciously pleased smile, but she leans back and reaches under her ruffled skirt, dragging a pair of lacy panties down her smooth, white legs. He gapes at her and can't do anything _but_ gape at her.  
  
She smiles brightly, rolling up her panties and stuffing that ball of pink lace into his apron pocket. Her hands come up to his face, gently stroking his cheeks before she wraps her arm around the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss. She takes her time with this one and he can't even claim that he doesn't melt completely.  
  
His hands skim just under the hem of her shirt. She smiles against his cheek and whispers, "I'm not wearing a bra."  
  
He stares for a second and really can’t believe he has permission, but snaps out of it quickly and runs his hands up her stomach, carefully cupping one small, perfect breast. She arches, pushing further into his hand until he kneads the soft flesh.  
  
She moans lightly when his palm rubs over her nipple so he presses it between two fingers and receives an even better, deeper moan. Both of his hands promptly slide under her shirt and he trembles almost as much as she does while he pinches her nipples into rigid points.  
  
Needy, pretty gasps fall from her lips and she sucks and nuzzles her way along his neck. Prying one hand away from her breast, she moves it between her legs and breathes into his ear. "Touch me."  
  
His whole body shivers and oddly, her words sound more like a request than anything she's ever said… ever. He touches tentatively, one finger sliding against her, and groans into her shoulder. She's wet. Obscenely wet and he's touching her _there_.  
  
She rocks her hips toward him and says again with more of a demand, " _Touch_ me."  
  
He slips his one finger into her and she tosses her head back, moaning with an edge of frustration. "More," she says in a low growl.  
  
He'd worry for his life, but he'd never deny her. He draws back and pushes two fingers into her, moving and curling them as deep as he can. She purrs and sneaks her hand into his pants. He nearly falls over, but she grips his shoulders tightly, stroking him slowly.  
  
He lets her for a good minute but worries that's all he can handle and withdraws his fingers to still her hand. She stops and brings them up to her mouth, swirling her tongue around each one and sucking them clean. He whimpers, but it makes her smile.  
  
“Hand me my purse,” she tells him, pointing to the sequined silver bag on the opposite counter.  
  
He blinks but turns and reaches for it. She flicks it open and pulls out a square foil packet, holding it toward him.  
  
He stares and feels straining in his pants. “Really?”  
  
She rolls her eyes. “Unless you want to walk around Lava Springs all day with a hard-on.”  
  
Letting out a breath, he tries to hold back a grin as he takes the condom. She scoots forward on the counter and runs a foot up the back of his thighs and over his ass. He breathes deeply as he unzips his pants and shoves them down with his boxers. With a grin, she trails a finger down his neck as he rolls on the condom. When he’s ready, she grips his waist and brings him forward, guiding him into her.  
  
He clutches her tightly and gasps against her neck. She rubs a hand over his short hair and lifts herself up toward him.  
  
“Fuck me,” she demands, quiet and intense. He’s not so sure that he hasn’t died or that this isn’t a dream, but she scratches her nails down his back and says it again. And he’s really never been one to argue.  
  
He sinks into her, finding a good rhythm, holding on so he doesn’t come apart. Her hands rake over him, squeezing and gripping him. He catches one and kisses her palm. She whimpers and falls backward to take him deeper.  
  
He stares at her as she arches up to meet him. Her hair is scattered over the countertop, her lips are wet and red instead of pink, and her shirt is crinkled and stretched tight over her chest, nipples still visibly hard. He always thinks she’s beautiful, but she’s disheveled and uninhibited this way, and it makes her even more gorgeous.  
  
He can tell when she's close - her moans lose their prettiness and turn deep and guttural and the best thing he's ever heard. He tries to hold out. He'd hate for her to be unsatisfied being with him. But she's hot and tight and slick. And she's Sharpay. He comes hard, jerking and clutching her so tightly they'll probably both be bruised.  
  
She sighs contentedly and holds him.  
  
Panting, he lifts himself and looks up at her. "Did you...?"  
  
She shakes her head and seems bizarrely unconcerned. "I can't come without something on my clit."  
  
"Oh, well, I could have..."  
  
She waves her hand dismissively. "I wanted to feel you. You feel good."  
  
He blushes and strokes her tousled hair. "You feel really good, too."  
  
She smiles and it's sweet and bright and makes his heart feel heavy.  
  
"Here,” he says and moves away. He loses the condom, fixes his clothes, and grabs a stool, perching in front of her. Taking her legs, he drapes them over his shoulders and pulls her toward him. He breathes deeply and licks a thick line across her and hears her whimper like she’s starving. Smirking, he licks her a few more times and then closes his mouth around her clit, sucking gently.  
  
She cries out and pushes herself toward him. He holds her hips and sucks until he feels her shudder hard then fall limp in his hands even though she’s still shaking. He gathers her in his arms and holds her like she’s fragile even though he knows she’s far from it.  
  
She absently pets his chest and murmurs, “I didn’t even tell you to do that.”  
  
He laughs and kisses her sweetly, savoring the taste. For a moment, she kisses back, but she pulls away before too long and his chest tightens.  
  
She bends her head, looking down, and asks very quietly, “Are you really over me?”  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut and can’t breathe. He should say yes. This should only happen once. He really shouldn’t do this anymore. But she meets his eyes and looks so sad and tiny and vulnerable.  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
She bites her lip. “Do you want to be?”  
  
He sighs heavily and shrugs.  
  
She pets his chest again, resting her hand over his heart. “I don’t want you to be. I’m not over you.”  
  
“You’re… you’re not over me?”  
  
She looks at him plainly and shakes her head.  
  
Zeke can’t help grinning. “I don’t have cookies. But how do you feel about crème brulee?”  
  
Slowly, she grins back. “It’s perfect.”


End file.
